


Helter Skelter

by Kerfect



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Prison AU, reverse shrinkyclings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-19 12:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11312994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerfect/pseuds/Kerfect
Summary: Bucky finds himself in prison.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank my awesome beta, [ wttlpwrites](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wttlpwrites)!

He was marched down the corridor with a guard at his side. The guy looked like a walking slab of meat and didn’t bother sparing Bucky a glance more than he had to. He was holding his bedroll along with his issued toothbrush, roll of toilet paper and change of clothes. It was intensely cold and the color scheme was somewhere in the range of dishwater grey. It smelled like stale piss and bleach and his shoes squeaked on the linoleum as the guard led him deeper and deeper in the prison. He looked around. There were no people in the hallway, and Bucky tried not to rubberneck too much. He felt ill with nervous energy.

The guard stopped in front of a row of cells. They were rooms with actual doors and a window with some sort of glass and mesh combo. 

“Come on,” the guy grunted and opened the door. 

It was small. Much smaller than Bucky would have imagined and the heavy, human odor hit him as soon as he was pushed unceremoniously inside. 

“Rogers, Barnes. Get acquainted.” The door slammed behind him and the guard walked away. There was a man on the top bunk. Bucky couldn’t see him very well, just a general shape of his body. He looked big. Bucky swallowed.

“So…” Bucky started, completely at a loss how to start. The man propped himself on his elbow and looked down. He was younger than Bucky imagined. Maybe mid 30s. He had sandy blond hair a fit physique. He silently gazed down at Bucky. “Uh, I guess I’ll take the bottom bunk,” he mumbled, ducking down. 

He heard the creaking of springs as Rogers turned back. “It’s lights out in two hours. You missed dinner,” the man --Rogers-- spoke from above. His voice was deep and even and something in Bucky unclenched. 

“Yeah, I figured. The transport took forever.” A small pack of cookies landed by his head.

“First time?” Rogers asked.

“That obvious, huh?” 

Rogers snorted softly. “We’ve all been there.” Bucky figured that was it, but he heard Rogers speak in a moment. “Piece of advice? Do your own time, not anyone else's.” With that, the conversation was clearly over. 

***

Bucky woke up to a rough shaking of his shoulder. It was Rogers. He was standing over him. 

“It’s going to be ‘lights on’ pretty soon. Then count, then showers.” Rogers moved to wait by the door as the lights flickered on and a buzzer sounded as the doors popped open. Eventually a guard strolled by, checking them in. He grabbed his shower kit and followed Rogers out the door. 

Bucky might never have been in prison before, but he certainly knew group homes and holding facilities. The rules weren’t that different. Keep your eyes and hands to yourself. Get in, get out. Don’t make trouble. 

There was a guard herding a group of them to yet another cell. It was beige and dingy, with clumps of hair and bodily fluids in the shower troff with small, black flies fluttering around. The guard handed him a razor, eyeing him casually, but there were no mirrors and Bucky tried his best shaving by touch. 

He glanced over and saw Rogers in the stall next him. He quickly averted his eyes. If he got caught looking, it would be literal death. It was hard not to, though. His hair was so fair, it looked white under the fluorescents. The water slid down his abs and into the patch of wheat colored hair between his legs. He glanced again and found himself pinned by Rogers’ heavy, blue gaze. Bucky’s fingers trembled and he felt a nick against his adam's apple. He twisted around and finished his shower as fast as he could. It was only the first day. God. A first day out of over three thousand. 

***

The cafeteria was loud and boisterous. Bucky shuffled along the line with his tray. They got a spoonful of mashed potatoes, mystery meat, and something that must have been fruit in its prior life. He sighed and turned to face the the room. People were sitting on metal tables that were bolted to the floor. The cliques seemed to be grouped by race. Bucky did a quick survey and decided he would be safest by himself in a corner. He set down with his back to the wall, trying to get the widest view of the room. 

He saw Rogers sitting by himself at another table. He was tense and serious. The flow of the bodies seemed to go around him. Bucky poked at the food and spooned some of the potatoes in his mouth. They were a little bland, but weren't any worse than the stuff he got at school. 

Suddenly there was a man in front of him, blocking his view of the room. Bucky dragged his eyes up from his tray to his grinning face and a mop of unkempt light brown hair. 

“Barton,” the man said. “Mind if I sit?” Without waiting for a response, the man plopped down on the bench in front of Bucky. He extended his hand. Bucky blinked at him. “It’s actually Clint,” he continued. 

“James,” Bucky volunteered and shook Clint’s hand. “Barnes. James Barnes.” He winced. His voice rusty from lack of use. 

“Welcome to the Scarlet Bay Regional Correctional Facility, James Barnes.” Clint said. “You’re new and since you’re by yourself, looks like your cellie weren’t doing their job, so I thought I’d help out.” 

“Uh huh,” Bucky said, looking at him wearily. “Thanks for the help and all, but I seem to be doing okay so far.”

“Who’s your cellie, anyway?” asked Clint, obviously not taking no for an answer. 

Bucky glanced at Rogers and Clint twisted around to look. “The cop?” He twisted back and cocked his head to the side. “Shit.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. A cop? Rogers? Bucky knew cops. Had a few unpleasant run ins with them. Rogers didn’t look like one. He didn’t act like one. But then again, he was here. What does that say about the kind of cop he was? “I don’t know a thing about him,” Bucky said, looking at Barton. “But I was told not to take candy from strangers, and I don’t know you from Adam, man.”

“Fair enough.” Barton kicked his feet out and slouched in a chair. “You want to know my motivations. Well, to be blunt, you’re white and don’t look like a NAZI asshole, so that really limits your social circle. I’m unaffiliated and I guess this is my recruitment speech.” Barton glanced back to one of the tables. There was a motley crew of men glancing up at them periodically. 

Bucky nodded and couldn’t help glancing at Rogers who was watching the two of them intently. “Well hey, I did my part. If you are interested, you know where we are.” He paused for a moment. It looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he flashed a quick grin, got up and walked away with a bit of a saunter to his steps.

Bucky kept methodically shoveling the food into his mouth. He couldn’t exactly start skipping meals now. 

***

The next pitch came during yard time. Bucky was hanging in the corner, looking at a few guys passing a basketball around. The weather was nice outside. The May sun hadn’t had a chance to bake the asphalt, and a nice breeze came from the East, carrying with it a scent of wild flowers. 

Bucky looked around, noting the same cliques he saw at lunch. He didn’t see Rodgers around, but he saw Barton and his little gang in one of the corners. When Barton saw him looking, he waved. Bucky looked down. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do about that guy. He needed to start trusting someone and Rogers certainly didn’t look like he wanted friends. And besides, getting a reputation as being cop friendly wouldn’t do him any favors. How Rogers was even still alive was a fucking mystery.  
He wistfully looked at the basketball court again. He wanted to get out there, but it just wasn’t safe to put himself out there all alone when he was still getting the lay of the land. 

He saw one of the burly white guys, with an iron cross across his shaved head, peel himself off from the main group and make his way in Bucky’s general direction. Bucky braced himself, straightening up and un-hunching his shoulders. 

“Johann wanted to pass his hello,” he said, planting himself in front of Bucky with his arms crossed. 

“Message received,” Bucky replied. His jaw locking tight. “And you can tell him that my debt is done and our association is over.” He steeled himself, shoving his hands in his pocket in case someone saw how much they were beginning to shake. 

“It’s over when we say it’s over.” The man leaned in. His breath, stale and sour, wafted over Bucky’s face.

“Go back to whatever cesspool you crawled out of, Rollins,” Bucky heard. Suddenly there was a presence by his side. He glanced over and saw Rogers, standing tall. Arms crossed, feet planted wide and and his eyes boring blue holes in the opposition. 

Rollins grinned slyly. “Be careful who you’re siding with, Bucky.” He spit out his name and sauntered off. 

“Be careful who you befriend in here,” Rogers said, in a perverse echo, turning that heavy gaze on him. 

Suddenly, Bucky was unbearably angry. The unfairness of it all, being stuck in this hell hole all alone, the near constant fear, it all came bubbling out. 

“Thanks, you sanctimonious asshole. I had it under control until you showed up.” Rogers looked surprised by the outburst, but quickly regrouped. For once, there was something close to passion on his face.

“I was just trying to help. Those guys are bad news. Once you get into their clutches, it’s damn near impossible to get out. And Rollins is a sociopath.”

All the fight went out of Bucky in a hurry. “Believe me, I know.” He sighed and sunk to the ground. This would be a long ten years.

Rogers waited a moment and then seemed to relent. He set down next to Bucky, looking ahead. “I’m Steve,” he said. 

Bucky looked at him in surprise. “I’m Bucky,” he replied.


	2. Chapter 2

Back in their cell, Steve seemed uneasy. “Look,” he started, “I wanted to apologize if I seemed too standoffish. I don’t have a lot of friends in here and I didn’t know anything about you.”

“Jeez,” Bucky said, lying down on his cot, “it’s not like you know much now.”

“I know you don’t get along with NAZIs. That marks you okay in my book.” Steve was looking down at him, his jaw squared and eyes the color of summer storm. 

“If only it was that easy,” he mumbled absently, staring at Steve’s wide shoulders. “Besides, you don’t know what I did, I could be a pedophile or something.” Steve raised his eyebrows. “I’m not, though! I mean, jeez, I just drove the car. It wasn’t even. Look it doesn’t even matter.” He sighed. “I’m stuck here for 10 years.” 

Steve didn’t say anything for a moment and then set down by Bucky’s feet. “It’s true, I don’t know what you did. But no one here is innocent. It’s what you do from here on out that matters.” Bucky didn’t reply. He was itching to ask about how Steve ended up here, but the last thing he wanted was to disturb the fragile friendship between them.

“I saw you talking to Barton. He’s okay people. I know hanging out with me is not great for your reputation. And it helps to have friends.”

“He said you’re a cop,” Bucky blurted out.

Steve’s eyes shuttered and he looked down. “I used to be,” he said flatly, then got up and climbed on up on his own cot. The conversation was clearly over. 

***

Bucky slept terribly. He still wasn’t used to sleeping in a new place. He woke frequently, dreaming in bits and pieces. Early morning sun cheerfully filled their little cell and Bucky squinted, scowling at their little window. His head was a staticky mess and he felt haggard and wrung out. The only saving grace was that he mostly sleepwalked through the showers, far too tired to be afraid or aroused around Steve. 

He shuffled through the breakfast line, plopping down next to Steve with his tray. 

Steve looked at him in surprise. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky started, “about yesterday. I’m sorry if I said something wrong.” He slumped in his seat, picking at the rehydrated eggs. “I just never thought I’d be somewhere like here. I made some dumb choices for what I thought was good reasons. I’m just trying to get through it without causing any problems. So if I offended you, I am very sorry.”

“Bucky,” Steve said looking straight at him, “problems will find you here whether you want them to or not.” He looked serious and sad. He sighed, “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t need to apologize. Come on, finish your food. We have some free time after breakfast and I might as well show you around.”

***

“Hydra controls all drug trade. I have my suspicions about how they’re getting this stuff in, but obviously no proof.” Steve looked Bucky over. “If you’re in withdrawal--”

“I’m clean,” Bucky enunciated, annoyed. People had been making assumptions about him his whole life. “Besides, even if I wasn’t, this would be one hell of an incentive.”

“Good,” Steve said, “because these are not people you want to owe favors too. The gang inside is led by Zola,” and Steve inclined his head in the direction of a portly, older man in round glasses. “Supposedly, he’s Johann Schmidt's right hand man.” Bucky shuddered internally. 

“I was getting close to him,” Steve said, his jaw clenched tight. Bucky looked at him. “Schmidt. I was investigating Hydra when I got arrested.” Steve was looking at the floor. 

“What were you arrested for?” Bucky asked carefully. 

Steve was silent for a long moment. Bucky thought he would ignore the question completely. 

“I was convicted of a triple murder,” he finally said, quietly. “I’m here for life.”

***

Bucky couldn’t sleep. He was thinking about Steve working a beat or driving in a cruiser. He was thinking about Steve arresting people, guys just like him. He was thinking about how little Steve seemed like a murderer. It didn’t make any sense. The only thing Steve was missing was a flaming sword to be a force of righteous fury. Bucky has been around death before, but he had never killed anyone, despite being convicted of manslaughter. He thought about three dead people and tried to imagine Steve shooting them, or stabbing them. The image wouldn’t come together in his head. He sighed and turned on his side again. 

He thought about the dead girl in the apartment and if she’d still be dead if he had never came along. He thought about the fire they had set to hide the crime. He thought about all those burning homes, families and children waking in the middle of the night in a panic. He thought about his own mother, and Rebeca, and what they would have said. 

He could see a sliver of the moon from his and Steve’s tiny window. It was full tonight, and the bright, silver light spilled across the cell. He watched it move very slowly across the sky, as the minutes lazily dragged by. It reminded him of the eye of God, watching him in judgment. 

He laid for a long time, just listening to Steve breathing, until he finally drifted off. 

***

Life fell into some sort of routine. Wake up call, showers, breakfast, work detail, lunch, yard time, free time, dinner, more free time and lights out. Rinse, repeat. Since Bucky had a background in mechanics, he got assigned a job repairing the endlessly broken fleet of cars. The work was engaging enough to keep his mind off things as the days blended together. He’d never before thought prison would be this boring. 

The gangs hadn’t really bothered him thus far, though he saw the side glances and the long looks. Steve seemed to have developed a reputation to be more trouble than he was worth, and people tended to leave him alone by extension. 

Steve was a great roommate. He was considerate, gave him as much space and privacy as you could have in a 10-by-10 space, and in general had a sort of calming influence on Bucky’s own nervous energy. 

***

As he was leaving the garage to make his way to the mess hall, a beefy hand reached out from an adjacent corridor and pulled him in. He found himself face to face with Rollins. This guy was clearly an enforcer. Bucky’s heart sank like a stone. 

“Your cop buddy won’t be around to protect you forever.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Bucky whisper-screamed. “Besides, I didn’t say nothin to nobody. I just want to do my time and get out, so you assholes can just leave me alone.”

“You sad fuck, you don’t even know.” Rollins was grinning, and suddenly he had a small blade in his hand. Bucky felt himself go cold all over. He pressed against the wall, but there wasn’t anywhere for him to go.

“They want you dead and gone. The only reason you’re not in the ground is because of the cop. Me, hell, I don’t care. I say shiv both of you.” 

The blade flashed and Bucky went for his wrist, trying to twist the knife out. It didn’t work and he found himself pinned against the wall, unable to breathe.

Suddenly the heavy hand around his throat dropped away and when Bucky opened his eyes -- when had he closed them?-- Barton was ginning in his face. 

“Howdy.” 

“Holy crap!” He breathed in ragged breaths. “You just saved my fucking life.” Rollin lay in a crumpled heap on the ground. 

“You’re welcome,” Barton said, leaning down to pick up the knife and pocketing it. 

“How did you find me? ” Bucky asked, still trying to catch his breath.

“Rogers asked me to keep an eye on you. Come on, kid -- we need to be gone before the guards come back from their break.” He took Bucky by the elbow and shuffled him down the corridor toward the cafeteria. 

“Jesus.” Bucky’s thoughts were swirling together. He tried to think back through the past week. There had been no incidents. Why could they possibly want him dead?

“You want to be around a lot of people. Don’t linger in dark corners.” 

_They must think I talked._ They must have thought he talked to Steve, Bucky thought furiously. The next thought hit him like a gut punch. 

Rebeca. She was all alone.


	3. Chapter 3

That afternoon, Bucky finally managed to corner Barton in the library.  He was browsing the fiction section, paging through a few well-thumbed paperbacks.

 

“What the hell is going on?” Bucky demanded, stalking up to him.  

 

“What do you mean?”  Barton didn’t seem surprised to see him.  He glanced up from the books and went back to flipping pages.

 

“I mean, people want me dead and you clearly know more than I do.”  Bucky was agitated and upset.  He was also very, very scared.

 

Barton sighed and put down his book.  “I really don’t know much.  I know Steve asked me to _discreetly_ keep an eye on you. Obviously it paid off.”

 

“Did he know it was going to happen?”   _Steve knew and didn’t tell him?_ That thought made his stomach squirm.  

 

Barton softened his tone.  “You really should be talking to him about that.”

 

Bucky deflated a bit; some of the adrenaline had bled off and he didn’t feel quite so shaky any more.

 

“I can’t even find him.  I didn’t see him at lunch or after. “ _Was Steve avoiding him because he knew?_

Barton patted him on the shoulder. “Well, I’m sure he’lll turn up.  It’s not like you can get lost around here.”

 

***

 

When dinner time rolled around, Steve still wasn’t anywhere in sight.  Bucky sat with Barton -- _Clint--_ and a few of his friends.  The guys seemed friendly enough.  They ranged in age and race.  One of the guys looked really young, maybe seventeen, and Bucky wondered briefly what he could have possibly done to end up in a maximum security prison.  The conversation drifted aimlessly, light and unobtrusive, but when a herd of Hydra thugs paraded past, everyone at the table tensed up.

 

“So, does everyone here hate these pricks or is it just me?” Bucky asked.  He caught a few glances among the guys.

 

“It’s best to stay out of their way, if you want all your limbs attached,” spoke up Scott -- one of the men at the table.  “They pay off the COs to look the other way and do whatever the hell they want.  They’ve edged out other gangs over the years so any contraband goes through them.”  

 

Bucky glanced at the other side of the cafeteria where Zola was holding court.  He’d never met the man before, but he had certainly heard of him.  Zola was Schmid’s chemist, who supposedly was going to turn state evidence only to lie on the stand and screw the whole case up for the prosecution.  

 

“Does the warden know what’s going on? Or is he in on this?”  Bucky asked.

 

“He knows, I think. A few of the COs are loyal to him.  But you never know, ya know?”  said another man at the table.  Bucky hadn’t caught his name.

 

The meal went by, and was mostly uneventful.  It was nice to talk to people again, even though Bucky knew better than getting entangled in prison relationships.  It was a different ecosystem in here.  Rules of polite society didn’t necessarily apply, but a whole slew of prison etiquette was required.  

 

He ate his food methodically, wondering where the hell Steve was and if he should try to save some of it for him.  It was mac and cheese night, so it wasn’t exactly something he could carry, but he did take the little bottle of juice that came with dinner and slipped it into his pocket.

 

***

 

After dinner, back at his cell, Bucky paced the small square and stewed.  He should reach out to Becca and warn her, but last time he called, her line was disconnected.   _Maybe that’s for the best_ , he thought. _Maybe if I can’t reach her, they can’t either._  If they couldn’t get to him in here, hurting her to ensure his silence was the next best thing.  As if he wasn’t sufficiently motivated to keep his mouth shut.

 

Eventually the cell door opened and Steve walked in.  It was already late evening and the “lights off” call was due any minute.

 

“Where the hell have you been?”  Bucky exploded at him, his anger, fear, and frustration spilling out of him waves.

 

Steve pulled back from him, “I was with my attorney.  Did something happen?”

 

“Yeah! Jesus, yeah, something happened!” Bucky was practically screaming.

 

“Bucky, calm down.  Tell me what’s going on.”

 

“Rollins almost knifed me, but Clint stepped in.  It was close,” Bucky choked out.

 

He was frowning, his expression dark but unreadable.  “Are you ok? Were you hurt?” Steve asked, looking Bucky over.

 

“No, I’m okay,”  he replied.  “Did you know it was going to happen? Clint said you asked him to guard me.”

 

“No, Bucky.  I asked Barton to keep an eye out because I heard some chatter and I can’t be everywhere.  I’m just glad I did.”

 

The final call for lights out came and the cell plunged into darkness.  Despite the moonlight cutting in,  Bucky could barely see Steve’s outline in front of him.

 

Bucky sat down on the lower bunk and Steve sat next to him.  Bucky sighed, pulling out the little juice bottle he saved from dinner, reaching over and placing it in Steve’s lap.

 

“Here, you missed dinner.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve said taking the bottle, and Bucky could hear a smile in his voice.   

 

They sat in silence for a minute.  The darkness and stillness of the night created a soft blanket around them, seemingly isolating them from the world.

 

“It’s my sister.”  Bucky said into the darkness.  He felt oddly calm and placid.  All of the turbulence of the day faded into the background, leaving him strangely empty and a little sad.  “I’m afraid she might get hurt and it will be my fault.  I don’t even know where she is and I have no way to warn her.”  Bucky looked down into his lap.  He felt free to talk in the darkness like he never felt in light of day. “I don’t have anyone else.”  He felt pathetic saying it, but it was true.  He didn’t even have any friends to call on the outside.  No one he could really trust.

 

There was a beat of silence before Steve spoke.   “I can help,” he said softly.  He touched Bucky’s clasped hands.  “I can help find her and I can help protect her.”

 

“How?” Bucky asked, looking up and searching for the glint of Steve’s eyes in the darkness.

 

“I still have friends on the force.  And if they can’t help, my lawyer knows a PI.”

 

Bucky thought about his options.  “What will I owe you for this?”  He finally asked.  

 

“Nothing, Bucky,”  Steve said, “you won’t owe me a thing.”  

 

Bucky felt tears sting his eyes and felt absurdly glad that it was dark.  He snapped his eyes shut, squeezing them tight and nodded, hoping that Steve can see.  He didn’t trust his voice.

 

When Steve spoke again, he spoke quietly.  “It will be okay.  I will make it okay.”   And Bucky wanted to believe him.  God help him, but he wanted to.  He knew it was a stupid thing to do.  You don’t trust people you met a few weeks ago.  You certainly don’t trust people in prison, but Steve’s earnestness and intrinsic goodness felt so real, that Bucky wanted it to be true.  He wanted it to work out for once.  For his luck to turn.  He wanted a happy ending.   

 

He felt Steve’s hand on his bicep.   “I will make it better,” Steve said, “just breathe.”  His hand traveled up and cupped Bucky’s face.  It felt warm and good and Bucky felt safe for the first time all day.

 

Bucky leaned forward, instinctively, pressing his lips to Steve’s.  It lasted just a brief moment, but the rightness of it poleaxed Bucky.  He felt Steve pull back from him, and embarrassment bloomed in the pit of his stomach.  But Steve was still holding his face, his thumb gently rubbing his cheekbone.

 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Steve asked, his voice low and measured.

 

“God yes,” Bucky said, surging up to Steve to kiss him again.  Steve wrapped his large hands around him, pulling him in, enveloping him with his broad body.  

 

This place was all hard edges and savagery.  It made you want to kill anything soft inside you to survive.  But maybe he could have this.  Just a little crumb, just for tonight.  

 

The smell of him, strong and human, and the warmth radiating from his body warmed Bucky’s skin, working its way inside.  He kissed him harder, tasting the clean, sweet taste of him.  Steve pulled him closer into his lap and Bucky allowed himself to be guided down, grinding against Steve, feeling him grow and harden beneath him.  He pressed himself tighter against Steve’s stomach, rocking against him.

 

Bucky lost himself in the pleasure.  Allowed himself to forget his fear at least for a little bit.  

 

Steve’s hands slid down his body, until Bucky felt them on his ass, hot, like burning metal holding him tight.  Steve’s mouth was on his neck, kissing and nipping against his collarbone.  He felt Steve tense below him.  He pressed down, giving Steve something to grind against.  Steve’s panting breath in his ear, all of it pushing him higher and higher.  Finally, Bucky felt himself seize up.  The pleasure, sweet and overwhelming, felt like a shot in the gut.  He trembled in Steve’s arms, settling against him.

 

***

 

Later that night, with the quiet of the cell gently settled around them, Steve spoke into the dark.

 

“So... _Clint_ , huh?”  

 

Bucky grinned into Steve’s chest.  “You’re not jealous, are you?”

 

Steve chuckled lightly. “No.  Just glad you’re making friends.”

 

“Thanks, _Mom_.”

 

“I know some of your problems are because of me.  Because of who I am.”  Steve ran his hand lightly against Bucky’s back.

 

“ _You_ yourself seem pretty friendly with him.”  He settled closer.  Comfortable and warm, Bucky never wanted to move.

 

“Yeah, I kind of knew Barton from before.”  At that, he actually raised his head, opening one eye to look at Steve.  “I _may_ have been his arresting officer.” Bucky raised his eyebrows.  

 

“What did he do and how are you still friends?”

 

“Not friends.  We’re friendly.  I stuck up for him with the DA and helped get him a shorter sentence.  I guess he feels he owes me something, even though I never asked anything of him.”

 

“Until me,” Bucky said, oddly touched by the gesture.  No one had gone on a limb for him before.

 

“Until you,”  Steve confirmed, his hand twining pleasantly in Bucky’s hair.


End file.
